


The Dark Ladies

by UndeadOphe



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Diplomacy, F/F, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Misogyny, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-14 08:34:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29043186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UndeadOphe/pseuds/UndeadOphe
Summary: Jaina is a Forsaken, and therefore she serves the Banshee Queen. She seemingly is the only one capable of breaking the Dark Lady's shell.
Relationships: Jaina Proudmoore/Sylvanas Windrunner
Comments: 44
Kudos: 145





	1. Loneliness

Sylvanas ponders on her throne. The Undercity has been calm, perhaps a bit too calm. Since Varimathras' betrayal, she has not transitioned back to normal - “normal” being her usual level of paranoia but not so deep that she can't trust anyone. 

She does not sleep. She does not eat nor drink. Only her existential thoughts. Arthas is finally dead. Her revenge has been fulfilled, albeit she has not given the final strike. She reminds herself of the peace she craved when she attempted to reach her final death... in vain. Her mouth tastes like melancholy, her crimson eyes cold like the endless abysses of Northrend. 

Nathanos is gone. He is supervising the training of a new regiment of dark rangers in the Trisifal Glade. She can't even trick loneliness with his mute company. She almost hoped for a new offensive from the Gilnean resurgents or a ludicrous demand from Garrosh. Something to spite on. Something to fuel with unliving anger.

She finally asks for an audience. Twenty minutes later, Lady Jaina Proudmoore enters the throne room. They are both alone, as Sylvanas wishes to speak in private. Jaina looks at her queen with her pale - yet still curious - eyes. Her grey tone cannot hide her undeath. The second Sylvanas heard about the death of the powerful mage, she raised her as an undead. First, because such an asset would be profitable for the Forsaken. Second, although she is not versed in arcane, she knew such a talented individual should be given a second chance to perform her art. Thirdly - and not the least - she feared the Scourge would steal her corpse for themselves. This fool Arthas, in all his sadism, could have acted on pitiful sentimentality. 

“You requested my presence, my Queen?” Jaina bows.

“Indeed. Have you read the books our scavengers have brought us back? Lordaeron's past knowledge cannot be disregard.”

“Yes, but this is strongly Light-based,” Sylvanas suspected that. “Fortunately, some works were written by high elves.”

“I want my mages to be efficient. Sooner or later, the Horde might send us in ceaseless wars against the Alliance. Conflict is hardly escapable. They have their entire undeath to master magic, but our time is scarce.”

“I understand. They will be shared among our trusted scholars.”

“Good.” Then, Sylvanas remains silent. She has not dismissed Proudmoore. She is unsure if she even wants to. A presence that isn't merely an adoring Forsaken does her good. Even if they do not talk. After all, she knows Jaina to be smart... She knows the advantages of maintaining sheepish subjects. Less likely to revolt. Her doubts could be forever dismissed if they were mind-controlled, but that she can't do. She'd prefer killing herself twice or thrice. She has been affected by that curse and so most of the Forsaken. This is their pain. Their trauma. Despite what her enemies pretend, her past self has not vanished completely, and with it basic needs for a real company, relationships that make sense to her sensitivities. “How is undeath?'' Sylvanas asks.

“Pardon?” Jaina lifts an eyebrow.

“You heard me well. I am concerned about how you handle this new... life.”

The mage takes her time to think of an answer. “I would have rather not dying in Northrend,” She genuinely confesses.

“Understandable.”

“I did not expect the Alliance turning on me so quickly. This was a shock to see my own people rejecting me.”

“They are cruel,” Sylvanas replies, internally satisfied.

“Undeath itself brings many advantages though. Sleep is, in retrospect, a counter-productive and time-consuming activity,” Sylvanas nods at her words. “I don't want to offend, Dark Lady, but why this concern?”

The Banshee Queen sighs as if it were self-evident. “We are slaves to this torment, Proudmoore. But I wish to make sure that this burden is not too heavy on my subjects.”

Jaina seems unsatisfied with this answer. In fact, she feels ready to make a bold move. “Why have you called me, really?”

Sylvanas frowns. She is about to put Jaina back in her place. Who is she to question her queen? But the question hit deeper than she anticipated. Motionless, she stares at the mage's bright and pale eyes. Patiently. Intimidating. But Proudmoore stands. Kul Tiras' pride is a hard trait to get rid of. “I... needed to talk.”

Jaina, expecting some ulterior motives, is bewildered. Is it some trick? However, the words of the Banshee Queen sounds genuine. “Is that so?”

“You are a relatively new Forsaken. An independent mind. I hoped...” No, not that word. “Rather, I entertained the idea that you would have interesting things to say. Does that enlighten you?”

“I didn't know you were interested in arcane that way.” Despite her ubiquitous response, Jaina has always been an empathetic person. The coldness of her flesh heart has not entirely chased it. She sees Sylvanas for who she is at the moment... A very lonely woman. “Is everything in order, my Queen?”

“This is not yours to ask such a...” She stops herself. Was everything in order? Did she know what she wanted from this conversation at all? “This is not important. You can leave if you wish,” Sylvanas says in an open and royal gesture.

“What if I wanted to stay?” Jaina replies.

“Why would you? Go before you test my patience even further,” Her words spite. Consequently, Jaina bows respectfully and leaves the throne room.

Once the door closed, Sylvanas contemplates the emptiness of her surrounding. Nothing. She is alone, again. Then, she feels stupid to have rejected Proudmoore like that. She wishes she could run back to her, apologize and maybe... invite her somewhere. Unfortunately, she rejects those thoughts as soon as they emerge. She can't allow behaving this way - at least this is what she believes - because it would be unfit for a ruler of her prestige. She is not the young, living, elf she used to be. She can't be.

Melancholy flows down her heart. She has not cried since her tears are forever marked on her face. She does not cry now neither. But deep inside, she wishes she could.


	2. Betrayal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The battle for Andorhal has not gone as planned. Sylvanas' emotional restraint either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have read the comments from last chapter and I greatly appreciate them! This is very encouraging. Here's another chapter to expand on their story. It will go better than last time.

Sylvanas Windrunner closes her claws on Koltira's neck and lifts him as he weighed a bag of feathers. His body giggles in a vain attempt to free himself from the Banshee Queen's grasp. “You can't fool me, death knight,” She says, staring in the scared blue flames on his face. “I would have swept the Alliance forces by now. Slaughter them and raised them anew. They were desperate, and now they had time to regroup. You have wronged me, Koltira.”

“I... need... more time. I swear I can still... succeed...” 

“Enough, worm.” A portal to the Undercity opens. “The Reckoning awaits you.”

“No!” Then, she throws the death knight in like a bag of garbage. The portal closes. Only her now, and the Horde Champion, Esmerosa. Esmerosa is Forsaken but has been outside of Lordaeron a lot since she gained in popularity among the other races. Her queen was jealous, scheming a plan to get back _her_ soldier. Nathanos knows that much of her queen's possessivity. But since Garrosh became Warchief, she either gets overworked or completely neglected (or forgotten) by the brute. And therefore, she came back home. In time to wage war against the Scourge and the Alliance in Andorhal. That much she can appreciate.

“Champion, you have served me well,” Her ghostly voice echoes. Esmerosa salutes. “Now go, let it be a lesson to everyone under my command. And wait for the Ranger-Lord's orders.”

“Understood,” Esmerosa clumsily bows before leaving the tower, followed by her giant spider companion, Bertha. Once she's in the dead angle of the champion, Sylvanas smirks. This satisfaction is short-lived, unfortunately. As she climbs the tower, she sits on the roof like a patient feline waiting for its prey. She gets a privileged view of the battle. She is deeply unpleased. The Alliance won over half the city, and the Forsakens have taken over the other half. The Scourge has been pushed back, but that much she has expected.

She wanted a total, and utterly, victory.

The Alliance was desperate, and they truly needed to be to try something in the Plaguelands. Realm of the Scourge, but soon realm of hers. She suspects the Argent Crusade to collude with the Alliance. They are too infected by the Light and previous Alliance's members for not doing so. And now that Arthas has perished, she sees no point in keeping those cumbersome “allies” around, notwithstanding the defection corridor that they inherently create.

Neutrality is a lie.

As long as the humans are present, they constitute a direct threat to the Forsaken. But that is only a minor offense in this story, all things considered. What she perceives as a defeat has been induced by a death knight. Although she had no sympathy for Koltira in the first place, she gave him a chance where Lor'themar could not care less about this previous Lich King's minion. She allowed him to serve by principle. She tried to see past the frozen blades. All this generosity... in vain. He betrayed her for an old friendship with another Scourge-dweller. More infuriating even, Thassarian has been able to serve his faction once again. The damned Alliance. Why him. Why this death knight. She has knocked on the Alliance's doors years ago, in the best of faith, in continuation of the alliance that united the elves and the people of Lordaeron since. Only hatred awaited her and her people. Rejection. And now, this backstabbing fallen knight has a right to serve Wrynn. In the middle of her boiling resentment, she genuinely can't understand the logic behind it. Morally corrupt, all of them. Unfair. Unjust. _But soon_ , she thinks, _they will know. And they will run._

***

Jaina Proudmoore has successfully defended the Forsaken's line until the battle has stopped on an even match. The enemy troops were powerless in face of her blizzard. Except one. One death knight, leading the Alliance troops. That was a severe impediment to their magical defense. Now that both sides stick to their newly gained territories, Jaina is harassed by questions. Why is the Alliance fighting along with side death knights? Why do they - at the very least - tolerate the Ebon Blade while... she has been chased like an animal. If she were a mere abomination. A shadow of her past self. The mage begins to suspect that you need to be a man to be given a second chance. This realization gets under her skin in all the wrong ways. Her undeath has cooled many of her passions, but now, she feels the fire within. Flames spontaneously burst out of her hands as she distances herself from the other undead people. How to make sense of this long and excruciating betrayal. Her people, her friends... left her. She sees the elongated tower. Sentimental, it reminds Jaina of her home in Theramore. Thus, she decides to find shelter there... That memory cools her a little, as spiky ice rather follows her path.

***

Sylvanas' senses detect the presence of someone beneath her. Someone entered the attic. She frowns, annoyed that her solitary lamentations are getting disturbed. On the other hand, it helps her center around more practical matters. She needs to make a move. Lead her troops. Decide on a strategy. Tell Nathanos what to do. Usual stuff. Swift as the shadow, Sylvanas discretely gets back into the attic. She holds her dagger when she observes the cold aura, suspecting a sneaky Thassarian jumping to his doom. Fortunately, the intruder is no else than... Jaina. She is mildly crouched and her hood covers most of her white - lunar - hairs. She sit in a dark corner, hoping to shut herself from the rest of the world. The Dark Lady has been smooth like a polished rock as she realizes that her presence has remained unnoticed. Or perhaps the mage does not care? The situation gets clearer once Sylvanas hears dry sobs typical of a saddened undead. The Banshee Queen used to have a larger repertoire for expressing sympathy in those moments. Yet, she can't resolve herself to either abandon Jaina or tell her to stand and go. Furthermore, she has not forgotten how she treated Jaina last time. She understands that she should demand more of herself than usual, despite fearing that the mage's sadness would infect her with tender sentiments.

“... Proudmoore?” Sylvanas hesitantly articulates. Jaina, recognizing the Dark Lady's voice, stands immediately.

“Pardon, my Queen. I...” She knows how she looked like, but she vainly tries to save face. “I was looking for Lindsay Ravensun. She has been missing since the cease-fire.”

Now that Jaina mentions it, Sylvanas feels simultaneously proud and embarrassed of her scheme. “Ravensun has been dispatched elsewhere. Her mission here is over. I am the overseer of this operation from now on,” She continues, aware of the ridiculous of the situation. Both of them lying to save crumbs of their ego.

“If the Dark Lady allows it, I can go back to my duties,” She bows.

“I...” She immediately regrets it. “Maybe you should... stay. You seem indisposed.” Jaina frowns, perplexed. She has the right to be so, especially after last time. The banshee grows aware of the silly game she is playing and clarifies herself. “You are allowed to leave if your heart wishes so... but please.”

Now, that is a punch on the stomach. Sylvanas Windrunner, the Banshee Queen in person, saying _please_. Harsh words would have felt less flabbergasting. And with incredible situations come incredible audacity. “Only if you don't discard me so quickly,” Jaina replies. “You can't ask me to stay for you to disappear right after.”

This is a monumental task the mage is asking. She would not let most even finish that sentence. Discarding inconvenient people or conversations has become her second nature. That being said... Jaina's soft and soothing voice reveals how lonely Sylvanas feels. Excruciating, ceaseless, infernal lack of proximity. She supposes that Jaina feels something in the same vein. “Have I been unfair to you?” Sylvanas calmly asks.

“Perhaps,” Jaina stares at her red, glowing eyes.

Sylvanas knows she has been rude to her in the past. This feels like the right place to deliver an apology, but the words don't come out. Instead, she nods. “Can I require your view on... tactical matters.”

“Of course.”

“Koltira Deathweaver has been removed from his rank for colluding with the enemy, the death knight Thassarian... Was it a mistake of my part to allow him to fight on our side?”

Jaina ponders the question. “The Ebon Blade is strange. Their members get back to their respective factions yet they hold dear their brotherhood of an order... of the Scourge. What we have seen today was revolting.”

“Really?”

“Pardon me, my Queen, I... I do not understand. How can they accept death knights among their ranks? They left me with no hesitations. This... this is unfair. They betrayed me. I have given so much to them... for that?”

Sylvanas needs no further explanations to understand the situation perfectly. “I am intimately familiar with this sentiment,” She approaches the mage, slowly abandoning her royal demeanor for a more relaxed pose. “You're not alone.”

In the torments of her emotions, Jaina's mind spins. She looks outside through the broken window. Around Andorhal, woods. Dead, rotten, woods. “Before the Scourge, those lands could not be more different. I did what I could to protect Lordaeron and his people. In life, I tried... to find peace for the Horde and Alliance races... only for my friends to put in my grave before I even truly died,” She pesters before breaking. Her dry sobbing manifests again.

Sylvanas can't bear more of it. It hits way too close from home. A trust broken. Betrayals after betrayals. She considers selfishly leaves Jaina to her tragedy so she can loathe alone, but she refuses. The banshee's world is turning upside down. She serenely walks behind her and envelops the mage with her arms. Sylvanas is tall as a high elf could be. The height difference is all more contrasting now that their bodies are right next to each other. However, Jaina remains pretty tall for an undead human. Her posture remained straight, contrary to many Forsaken.

“Sylvanas...” Jaina murmurs, breaking all the reverence she owes her queen.

“I'm sorry.” Sorry to have played with her destiny by raising her? Sorry that she could not stop Arthas? Sorry because she genuinely feels bad for her? More likely all of those and more. What could she have done more than she already did? She ignores, but self-loathing is a powerful drug indeed. But little did Sylvanas know, hugging is strong as well. Although none produce warmth, the gesture makes its own flame. The comfort allows Sylvanas to break her callous banshee persona as her head slips near Jaina's left shoulder. The mage dares to put her hand on the Dark Lady's purple hood, gently caressing her head. This sufficed for a dozen of seconds, or two, or three, they can't tell. Sylvanas finally breaks the embrace. She recovers her elevated posture. “Do not worry anymore, you will defend Lordaeron's people once more. The Forsaken won't forget it. Ungrateful is not our way.” She promises. “I have much to attend to, and so have you,” The Dark Lady concludes.

“Of course,” Jaina says. As she sees Sylvanas' cloak fading towards the staircase, her lips slip a sentence: “See you, Sylvanas.” The banshee does not correct her but gives no reply either.


	3. A sketch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nathanos reads Sylvanas like a book and she hates it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to write a bit of Sylvanas and Nathanos, so this is what this chapter is about.

Nathanos and Thassarian fight blades to blades in the darkest of night. The Ranger-Lord could not let such an inconvenience alive, especially considering how upsetting he is for his queen. Although the Forsaken can defend himself, he is quickly outmatched by the death knight. He falls on the ground, disarmed and at Thassarian's mercy. 

“You will die, banshee's dog. All in vain for a bitch that never cared about you. Pathetic.” Yet, Nathanos smiles. His eyes light up as the blade gets closer to his neck. “What is so funny?”

One, two, three, and four arrows dive right in his back. He opens his mouth, under the shock of this sudden blow. He does not wear a full-suited armor, as he wished to be discrete to infiltrate the sewers and free his friend. Then, a battleaxe comes diving right into his shoulder. The death knight falls on his knees, his grasp on his sword loosens.

“I think it'll calm him,” Belmont comments with a satisfied smile.

“I shoot before you, I get first pick on the loot,” Esmerosa adds as she emerges from the shadow.

“You... corpses! This is... not an honorable duel,” Thassarian says as he lifts his eyes towards Nathanos, now standing and removing the dust from his outfit. 

“We died once and that was enough,” Nathanos boasts. “We're not Orcs, what did you expect?”

Before Thassarian could try something stupid as he reaches for his sword, Belmont cleanly executes him. “Oh, sorry. Did the Dark Lady wanted him alive?”

“We already have the other one,” Nathanos clarifies. “Although we can bring back parts to him if he desires some company.”

“He has nice boots, nobody mind if I...” Esmerosa greedily examines the body.

“You unworthy vulture,” Nathanos spites to the champion, but she pleasantly ignores his insults. As much as he hates her guts, she saved his life a few moments ago. “Nevermind, you two are cleaning that mess. I will report to our queen directly.”

***

Sylvanas was back in the Undercity for a few days now. She has requested many things from the deathstalkers: an in-depth examination of the troops present at the battle of Andorhal and beyond to spot any subversive elements within. Furthermore, she has asked Nathanos to send people to look after Jaina. _This is all professional_ , Sylvanas convinces herself, _I can't have the luxury of favoritism. Besides, she is a relatively new Forsaken. And a powerful one. This is normal that I dedicate time to her... No not in that way of course, of course..._ The Banshee Queen has trivial and serious regrets about what she did. The trivial ones concern her ego, of course. The more concrete ones regard her capacity to make something of that relationship. Is she the best for Jaina? Is Jaina tricking her by playing with her sensitivities?

Nathanos enters her quarters. She was doing some paperwork on her own. The Ranger-Lord is the only one allowed to reach her in such a familiar setting, and it had nothing to do with unprofessional frequentation or whatnot. He always knew that Sylvanas loved women and competently keep his place as a platonic friend. “My Queen,” He bows. Sylvanas feigns to ignore him. “I am back with the intel you requested... and more.”

She frowns. “More?” She is interested, yet apprehensive.

“We have found the death knight Thassarian trying to free the traitor. He died by attempting to break into the Undercity.”

Sylvanas smirks. “Their intoxicating friendship will have doomed them all.”

Nathanos nods. “I also received the reports from my people about Lady Proudmoore.” At the sound of the name, the banshee finally looks at her second in command in the eyes. “She seems to hold on memories of her past life. Witnesses have confirmed her inclination to sentimentality.”

This is nothing new to her. “Give her time. Although if she continues to hold on these, we should then be concerned.”

“We also intercepted a correspondence with the former warchief, Thrall.”

“They fought the Burning Legion together in Kalimdor,” Sylvanas explains. “Have you read the letter?”

“Of course. Nothing worthwhile to report... You seem perplexed, my Queen.”

“This is not the response I want. You are well aware of this,'' She reprimands. She expects more details from her spies. Better to know more than less. On the other hand, she realizes that respecting Jaina's privacy would be preferable if she takes her last conversation with her seriously. Has she not admitted to be unfair? Should she correct herself? She leaves her desk, facing the undead human. “Actually, no. If they lose their time by writing about their best sentiments for the future of Azeroth as I presume, that's none of my concern...”

Nathanos' impassive expression shifts immediately. “This is... generous of you.”

“What are you insinuating, Nathanos?”

“Jaina used to be an important member of the Alliance.”

“I do not neglect the safety of the Forsaken. I simply prefer to keep the best of relations with her. If we were to systematically read her letters, and she knew of it...”

Nathanos stares at Sylvanas. His mentor. His protector. His liberator. His queen. His friend. After all these years together, some quirks of the Ranger-General have refused to die out. His intuition rings like a thousand bells. “I can't believe it, you have something for Lady Proudmoore have you?”

“Cease this obscenity! It has nothing to do with...” She says in an over-indignant tone. For mere seconds, her head shifts lightly to the ground, as if she were a young elf caught flirting with her crush before she composes herself.

“I can't say I'm surprised. You always liked humans. Especially the dork ones...”

“I will send you to the dungeons for eons to come! This will teach you to watch your imprudent mouth!” In any other context, Nathanos would be begging for mercy right now. But Sylvanas looks too offended to be genuine in her threats.

“Well if I don't rot by the time you'll tell me how the wedding went,” He banters.

Exasperated, she crashes back to her chair. She has been defeated. Not by weapons, not by god-like creatures, but by Nathanos' insufferable attitude. “If it were true... _which is not_ , you are strictly forbidden to tell anyone about this. If one dark ranger knows, consider Azeroth informed.”

The Ranger-Lord nods. “And if you can make it work in the meantime, this would not be so bad.”

“What do you mean?”

“Jaina is one of the most powerful mages in Azeroth. Her renown is phenomenal. She has relations with the Kirin Tor as well. Our enemies already made us a gift by rejecting her. If you were to make an alliance, that would consolidate power both within and outside the Forsaken.”

“You talk like my mother,” Sylvanas cuts, not without an amused twinkle shortly surfacing. “I will take care of this as I see fit. I will not let anything or anyone intervene with the Dark Lady's judgment. You can go.” She concludes, calmly but resolute.

“Very well.” He bows respectfully and leaves his friend to muse. This has made his day for sure. 

As for Sylvanas, she sighs as she takes a small journal hidden under her desk. She opens it... contemplating sketches of Jaina's portrait. Nothing impressive but a little something she did when she found time for herself. She takes a pencil and proceeds to finish some details, like Jaina's adorable freckles.


	4. Invitation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylvanas welcomes Jaina in a strange fashion, but this does not repel her from asking the Banshee Queen for a date.

Sylvanas and Jaina have been on better terms in the last four months, although not intimate as in Andorhal. Unfortunately, most things involving both of them relied on rather impersonal business. The elf has run short on excuses to meet her alone with enough deniability. Jaina had a similar issue.

The mage has traveled to Ogrimmar with a Forsaken delegation. The Dark Lady insisted to keep her near, to move her as far as Silvermoon seemed more acceptable to her. However, a group of orcs was part of the event as well, and orcs being the favorite children of the Horde, the rest of the races had to comply. 

She also knows that Jaina has received letters from the Kirin Tor recently. With that comes fear. She realizes the political possibilities, but she remains scared that Jaina would simply... go away. Lose herself again in the so-called neutrality of the Kirin Tor or rather grow apart from her influence within the Horde. For an elf, time flows differently than for humans, and long, excruciating, flirting over months and years are not so uncommon. But Jaina, although technically immortal now, could see things differently. Upon this realization, she has decided to make an effort, although unnecessarily intricate. 

She waits in Brill's periphery, her hood covering her white hairs and her face. She wears a different armor than usual. She neglects to do change hers, and Nathanos has to annoyingly remind her to change it once in a while. And even when she does, all her armors look nearly identical. What can she say, she loves her look. However, she has settled for a less Banshee-Queenish style to adopt the one of a regular dark ranger, plus the blue tabard. 

She observes the tower, waiting for a mage to come out from the portal linking the Tirisfal Glade to Ogrimmar. Eventually, Jaina Proudmoore's silhouette emerges. She gets down and mounts a skeletal horse. Before she goes, Sylvanas rides beside her. “My mission is to escort you, Lady Proudmoore. The Dark Lady requested it,” She highers the pitch of her voice, in hope to sound more like a younger and less experienced ranger on a mundane mission. 

“Well, if she requested it,” Jaina says. She frowns but goes on with it. After a kilometer towards the Undercity, the mage clears her throat. “I am a bit embarrassed to say this... but I presumed you had better disguises.”

Sylvanas has not put too much effort into her impersonation, it is true. She felt that it was necessary to not look like she's waiting for her beloved to come back home. Although it is exactly what occurred, the Banshee Queen has pride. “You must mistake me for someone else.”

“Oh really?” Jaina casts a gentle spell pushing Sylvanas' hood down, exposing her head to the empty landscape. Promptly, she puts it back but reveals her face. “Who are you then?” She smiles.

“I... have my reasons. Confidential, you would understand.” Proudmoore nods, amused by the elf trying to save face as hard as she can. “I only wondered about... how your travel went.”

“You schemed this entire mascarade only to ask news from me?”

“The motives of the Dark Lady might be difficult to apprehend, but her methods must prevail,” Sylvanas explains, unaware of the ridicule.

Jaina chuckles. “Very well. An orc tried to assassinate me once, for past grudges by association I presume. No difficulties neutralizing him,” Sylvanas nods, thinking about Garrosh's negligence when it comes to protecting dignitaries outside of the three pampered races... and still. “It was otherwise rather uneventful. Having walked freely in both Stormwind and Ogrimmar makes for a unique experience. May I ask... Has Ogrimmar always looked so... spiky?”

“Spiky?”

“Metal spikes are pointing everywhere, outside, inside, in every district...”

“Well... I suppose it is to make the city difficult to raid by air. But that is merely technical. The real motive lays with our current Warchief.” The mere scientific fact that Garrosh is compensating for something has crossed her mind, but she decides to give herself some restraint. “Unlike Thrall, he seeks conflict. He has prepared the city for that purpose. This is also why we had to invade Gilneas. It had nothing to do with eating people, contrary to Alliance propaganda.”

“You had to?”

“The Warchief demanded it.” Minus Gilneas, Andorhal, and raids in the Barrens, Alliance and Horde have not gone aimed for the throat yet. War has not exactly stopped, but cease-fires have been signed for most contested areas in the last months. Sylvanas sees the fragility and inevitable downfall of this meek peace. With Garrosh as a warchief and the Alliance as an enemy, their diplomacy akin to begin wars and stop them as soon as possible, she has little hopes for the future. So better be prepared. In the meanwhile, the Forsaken need to regroup and gather resources for the next campaign.

“I do not understand Thrall's decision... This Garrosh is so unlike him. Have you thought... finding solutions to all of this?” She vaguely suggests.

“You want to discuss politics?”

“This is not what I had in mind. I want to talk about _you_.”

“Talk about... me?” She murmurs, confused. “I am not sure I understand.”

“What are you planning for your future?”

“The survival of the Forsaken,” She says, like the thousands of times she did to justify her decisions. Although she lost it in Northrend, upon the realization that her most hated foe has finally perished. She saw no points in anything or anyone. No point in survival, even. 

Jaina senses the sadness' shadow crossing Sylvanas' face, as her head leans down. “To be honest, I had put a lot of my future in Theramore,” She confesses. “And now... There is not much to hope for this city. At least when it comes to me. I guess I have to find a new purpose, along making Lordaeron anew.”

“So must most of the Forsaken. In time, you will see. With a new home comes new beginnings.”

“A new home...” Jaina muses. “It would be nice if I could share it with someone.”

“This... is a prospect,” Sylvanas replies, unsure on what floor she might be dancing on.

“Well, I see a nice lady I could invite...” She looks at the Banshee Queen in the eyes

“This is but insubordination!” Sylvanas echoes. “I could administer harsh punishment for such a misplaced invitation.” Jaina's expression remains calm, albeit her eyes can't meet the Dark Lady face-to-face anymore. “Furthermore, what place... I mean it's not like anyone invited me for... years,” She continues in a moderate tone. 

Jaina's face brightens instantly. “So you are interested?”

“I said no such things,” She says while looking the other way, too embarrassed to reply by this affirmative. 

“Would you prefer a date then?”

If Sylvanas had still living colors, her face's skin would be red like a delicious tomato. Also, she has not expected Jaina to be so blunt. Where does it come from? Little does she know, Nathanos can be an efficient wing-man. “The Dark Lady... can't have... dates?” She hesitantly replies.

“I thought she was the one making the rules.”

Sylvanas' traits soften. Deep inside, she wants that date. No, she craves it. But she has an ego shaped like a prison, notwithstanding her fear of getting hurt. “Let me think about this.”

“Of course. But don't push yourself if you don't want to,” Jaina genuinely reassures. “I understand if you'd prefer not.”

“I know what I want, but I need to make it happen in the best of circumstances. And your... reckless audacity was unexpected.'' Control, it's always about control. “Stay assure that it won't linger.”

Jaina nods as they both come back to the Undercity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, they will go on a date. Despite her thick shell, Sylvanas will rediscover her affectionate self a little bit.


	5. The date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylvanas and Jaina are having their first date!

Jaina is training a few Forsaken in the ruins of Capital City. The dark rangers have made clear that he wants no fireball threw in the sewers or the streets of the Undercity. The mage contemplates what's left of the past grand city. _He did it to his people... Was it only a bigger Stratholme to him_ , Jaina thinks as she overlooks the aim practice of the apprentices. _I'm sorry Arthas. I can't watch you do this._ She feels like she should have done something. Stop him by force with Uther, if necessary. But he was a prince, and one that, as it turned out, did not take no for an answer. This was all my fault, I have done this. If only I had the courage to...

“Lady Proudmoore?” A woman Forsaken asks her. 

She snaps back to reality. “Yes? Should you be throwing ice pikes by now?”

“Pardon, yes, I should,” She replies with her guttural voice. “Simply... I haven't seen you since Dalaran.”

“My apologies but I do not remember you.”

“Who am I? Yeah, it might be hard to tell now...” The woman's face has been patched up together with leather stripes, and one eye is missing. “I am Betty Grandway, but now Betty Oneye I suppose,” She chuckles roughly. “I began my studies with Anthonidas a bit before the Third War and... well here's my chance to try a mage career again, right?”

Jaina recalls her. Although they were never closed, nor even friends for that matter, she understands how she might be a familiar face to her. She smiles, even though saddens on the inside at the mention of her old mentor. “I remember! This is a chance that you're here among us.”

“Destiny works in mysterious ways I guess. Didn't think you'd be here either.”

“As you said.”

“Right, and now we have to work with Orcs. A weird world we live in indeed.”

“I understand that this is not how we planned our lives... or our unlives. Situations changed. But I worked with some Orcs if this is what you worry about. They are not all bad.”

“They better don't backstab us like all the other livings...” She says with a tinge of bitterness.

“Do not worry, Sylvanas would not let it happen,” Jaina reassures.

Betty nods and goes back to her training.

***

Jaina comes back to her room. As a prominent mage, she gained the right of individual space, unlike others who had to settle for a communal room akin to military dorms. It is no paramount of luxury but it gives her a place to think and read. But in front of her door stands Nathanos, impatient. “You took your time,” He reprimands.

“Pardon, can I know what your presence's for, Ranger-Lord?”

“That, I was supposed to leave it in your room,” He hands a sealed letter.

“You waited here... to deliver a letter?”

“This is from the Dark Lady,” He clarifies. “You have your chance, Proudmoore. If you mess things up...”

“No pressure,” Jaina smirks. “This is cute that you want to protect her so badly though.”

“She can fight her own battles,” He explains, annoyed. “But she has been showing weakness for you for some reasons. Do not abuse it, or else it won't end well for you.”

“Your worries are duly noted, Ranger-Lord.”

On this, Nathanos leaves without ceremony. Jaina enters her room and slowly unfold the letter. The message is brief and without signature: _Meet me at my quarters as soon as possible. Follow the instructions for the location. Don't let anyone follow you._ It would sound ominous if Jaina ignored that it was about a date. How to interpret the letter is another deal. Is Sylvanas responding aggressively to her advance or she prefers a controlled and known place for their date? She can't truly decipher, albeit she leans on the latter. 

Sylvanas' second in command was right, however: this a chance, and she can't afford to waste it. Consequently, she takes the time to brush her hair a little bit for the occasion. Then, she navigates her way to Sylvanas' quarters, with no resistance from the abominations guarding the doors. She takes a deep breath - out of habit and not of necessity - and knocks on the door. It quietly opens to reveal a finely prepared table with pretty candles lightening the room. Sylvanas is here too, looking shy as a teenager's first date, creating an enormous contrast with her otherwise confident attitude. “You may enter.” She softly says. She wears a lighter ranger outfit than her full armor set.

Sylvanas' apartment exudes a certain modesty. Despite it being more spacious than most Forsaken's, she merely has the luxury of any well-off commoner in Boralus, and still. Nevertheless, it is pristine to near obsessiveness and militarily well-organized. Her vast library shines as her only jewel. If, of course, one does not consider Sylvanas' glowing eyes as such, which is Jaina's opinion. “Have you cleaned everything up for me?” The mage banters.

“I keep this place clean at all times. I despise disarray. You can sit,” She points at the table. As Jaina sits, Sylvanas does the same. “You wanted an invitation, here you are.”

“Thank you, Sylvanas. I do not take your time for granted.”

“As you should, but I am still unsure why you demanded it in the first place.”

“Isn't obvious? I want to know you. Spend time with you.”

“Well,” Her words are cut short. “I apologize if I lose my tongue. This situation is uncommon.”

“The Dark Lady had no admirers before?”

Sylvanas declines. “This is not possible with my subjects. You being... exceptional in virtue of your importance makes it more... doable,” She explains. “And also, I am a mere corpse.”

Jaina frowns. “Are you?”

“What else might I be?”

“But Sylvanas... you are but the prettiest.” Her date looks the other way. “I don't see you like that. Remember when we first saw each other in Dalaran? I found you beautiful, and I still think the same way.”

_Lies, disillusions_ , the Banshee Queen automatically thinks, but she has made a promise to herself to keep a good faith attitude. “This is within your right to believe it, I suppose.”

“I am Forsaken too and don't you... find me pretty?” Jaina asks.

“I...” The Dark Lady closes her eyes, briefly meditating on an adequate response. “Yes. And despite what my actions might have told you, I get a certain enjoyment from conversing with you too.”

“Then, why must it be different? Can I find you good-looking?”

The mage has a sharp mind. Sylvanas knows she has been pushed into a corner. “I... suppose you can find me... pretty,” The idea feels strange, but not unpleasant. Sylvanas knows she has been an attractive woman in her life, and most of her traits have remained in undeath. Self-loathing aside, this is the coldness, the rejection from the livings, that shifted her sense of self the most. Yet, this is still her body, and more importantly, her. Transformed by circumstances, affected by traumas, but still her as any livings would as they go through life. “As the Banshee Queen, I have not put many thoughts into... me, leading the Forsaken as it is. But having someone... showing me interest, this is hard to make sense of.”

Jaina deposes her hand on Sylvanas'. “It doesn't need to be.”

The banshee's fingers play with her date's one. So soft, used to scholar activities and arcane... Nothing like the rough skin of hers when she stranded Quel'Thalas woods with her rangers. Living from the forest as it was. “This is not that I never thought about having a companion. But my past circle always insisted that I marry an important man. It didn't work for me, with the courtesans neither. The Ranger-General life has not helped. Then rumors about me and Nathanos began,” Sylvanas confesses. “And still do.”

“He warned me before this. He wanted to prevent me from hurting your feelings. I hope I'm doing a good job.”

“This imbecile,” She spits out, but not without a frank smile. 

“Am I... doing too much?”

“No,” Sylvanas reassures. “Can you... continue to hold, please?” She appreciates this contact, as mince as it gets, more than she expected.

“As long as you're comfortable.” Still, to think that such a strong and powerful woman as Sylvanas would tremble under the idea of holding hands. Nevertheless, Jaina understands that this woman had to be the strongest for so long, that a mere affectionate touch and empathetic words could shake her world. Love is no weakness, but simultaneously a normal and mighty feeling that sadly crashed like a lone whale. Can she blame Sylvanas for letting it go? No, she can't. She has done what she had to survive and lead her people. But the weight of sentiments get heavier, and no sensitive being should be subjected to such an extended privation of empathy and love, not even the most fearsome hero of Horde's races in the Eastern Kingdoms. “I heard you liked hugs too.”

“You...” Sylvanas pesters. “I have done it to appeased you, obviously.”

“Did you? What if I hugged the Dark Lady of the Forsaken right now?”

“If you so want one...” Sylvanas says, feigning carelessness. She stands up and embraces Jaina herself. That fits more with her need for control than being hugged. The Banshee Queen never gets hugged... if she wants to, she gives them.

“I got you,” Jaina smiles.

“I am the one that got you,” Sylvanas whispers. “Curious how defenseless you are once I do this.”

“If you really wished me harm, you would have let me to my true death. Plus, you don't seem to hate it either.”

She will not admit it right now but she likes it. It feels right to be able to get as close to another being that way. But also wrong because she thinks she should be passed that pitiful hope. Apparently not. “Insightful,” she merely comments.

“Despite my enthusiasm, I must confess I have not been used to the numbness yet,” Jaina tells. It might also be why she dramatically searches for a caring soul to keep her close. 

“Ah, yes. You will get used to it. You should be able to sense a little bit by now. Your brain has been well-preserved, so for all its functions. Once the comparison with the experience of the living flesh is far, it gets easier,” Jaina laughs delicately. “What is so funny about this?”

“You talk about brain preservation while hugging me.”

“I see. Would you prefer that I stop?”

“Do you?”

“I... need to get to work. The Dark Lady has many responsabilities,” She leaves the embrace. Jaina stands up. “Jaina... Our time together was enjoyable.”

For the first time since undeath, she simply called by her first name like her friends would. Jaina appreciates this proximity. “Would you like to do it again?”

“I must think about it, you would understand,” Sylvanas says as she turns her back from the mage. “Thank you for staying with me in spite of... everything.”

“Of course. I like you, Sylvanas.”

The tone sounded too much like a declaration of love for even the banshee to not get it. “You can go now. We'll see each other another time.”

Jaina nods and leaves. As for Sylvanas, she remains deadstill in her room, trying to make sense of this wave of love that crashed on her.


	6. War awaits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garrosh has ordered the invasion of Kalimdor. However, this does not serve the interests of the Forsaken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapters will relate many events from Christie Golden's book Tides of War. Jaina being part of the Horde now, the story will tremendously change from the canon.
> 
> Thank you all for your interest in this fiction.

Sylvanas walks down the night street of Ogrimmar with her delegation, followed closely by Jaina and Nathanos. She boils in cold fury as Garrosh's plan does not meet her interests at all. This is not by sympathy for Alliance military bases in the Barrens, but perhaps Jaina would. This is more akin to the fact that Garrosh wants a complete and utter war with the Alliance in Kalimdor: for this effort, he has demanded most of her troops and the Blood Elves' assistance. By doing so, he jeopardized the Eastern Kingdoms' defenses. A retaliatory invasion from the south is to be expected. 

Is Garrosh trying to choke them to death? And Lor'themar, loyal to his nature, has raised no objections nor sympathy for their otherwise common goal.

Back in the Undercity, the Banshee Queen has appointed her most valuable soldiers into the war room. “This is not ideal,” Esmerosa states. “I wish I could have stayed in Lordaeron, but the Warchief requested my help.”

“That I know,” Sylvanas says. “Don't worry. This is not a sustainable situation but in the short-term, we might gain an advantage, even so slight. I want to recuperate as many corpses as possible from the battlefield. Northwatch and Theramore are human in the majority, it could be possible for us to raise them.”

“The Warchief is not found of these schemes. What were his words... he finds all of this... unnatural.”

“Indeed,” The Dark Lady merely replies.

“Works for me,” Belmont concludes. 

“I will dispatch as many Deathstalkers as possible to retrieve the corpses. Let the Horde soldiers take their belongings, and the Taurens do their rituals. But once they look the other way...” Belmont nods. “As for you, Champion, do as Hellscream demands. We-”

A messenger opens the door. “My Queen,” He salutes. “My deepest apologies for this interruption, but Lady Proudmoore requests an audience... immediately.”

“Anar'endal dracon...” She whispers. “Very well, let her in.”

“She wants to see her Majesty in private.”

 _Jaina... not now._ “Give me five minutes.”

The messenger salutes and leaves.

***

The war room got empty in five minutes exactly. Then, Jaina enters, visibly agitated. She had no time to deal with, but the tempest was inevitable. “This can't be. This plan, this is just outright aggression!”

“We have to follow the Horde wherever it goes,” Sylvanas says with no conviction.

“Lordaeron and Quel'thalas won't stand a chance against the rest of the Eastern Kingdoms if we send that many soldiers.”

“I am aware.”

“Do you have a plan for any of this?”

“There is, but you don't need to be informed of it.”

“You are planning to send the Forsaken to Theramore and you think I should not have a word on the matter?”

“This is not your city anymore. Nor your people. You need to get rid of this previous attachment, as they certainly have.” Sylvanas contemplates the fire in Jaina's eyes. 

“Am I talking to Sylvanas or the Dark Lady?” 

The question hits the Banshee Queen like a piercing arrow. She understands she has been acting like the general she needs to be for her soldiers, and not the lover Jaina expects. “Jaina... I need to save my people. They will not be safe if they do not have the Horde's protection.” _We are not in control... we have never been in control, after all_ , she briefly thinks. 

“This won't save the Forsaken and you know it.”

“If you are so confident, what is your suggestion?”

“We can reach the Sin'dorei. They have the same interests as us. We have to collaborate with them,” In undeath, Jaina has not lost her diplomatic habits.

“I sought the Regent-Lord's support in Ogrimmar. He has given none. Selfishness is his nature.”

“The Blood Elves won't throw themselves at their death. There are serious people in Silvermoon... Lady Liadrin won't let it happen. She can help us bring Lor'themar to reason.”

As much as Sylvanas hates having her opinions challenged, she must admit that Jaina makes sense. Plus, it won't hurt them if they coordinate to defend their lines at the south when the Alliance inevitably advances north. “Very well. We'll quickly travel to Silvermoon, for cooperation purposes.” Then, something itches the Dark Lady. “How do you know Lady Liadrin?” She asks.

“I have met my share of people since my introduction in the Horde.”

“Oh, if that is what happens,” She mumbles impulsively.

“Sylvanas... are you... jealous?”

“The Dark Lady has no time for such low sentiments. I was simply unaware.”

“ _Sweetheart_ , you don't need to worry.”

“I am not sweet if that's what you're implying.”

“Yet you can be,” She approaches, languid. “Aren't you the one that invites me to your cozy home with all those pretty candles?” She softly murmurs.

“... This is my war room, Jaina. You can't talk to me like that here.”

Jaina deposes a sober yet affectionate kiss on Sylvanas' cheek. “If it makes you feel better, I will stay with you when we travel to Silvermoon. You will see that I like no other elf than you.”

The Dark Lady is paralyzed. Jaina's affection can produce that effect. Furthermore, she realizes that her companion has fully utilized her inclination to get what she wants. She ignores if she should feel concerned or proud of her cunning. “This is not about other elves or any fantasies you indulge yourself in,” Sylvanas replies decisively. “But it remains a sound move.”

“As you wish, my Queen.”

***

Lady Liadrin puts reason and pragmatism before blind obedience to the Light. For this alone, the matriarch has earned the banshee's respect since the Fall. However, by contemplating her living skin and her golden eyes, she feels small in comparison. _She has the warmth that Jaina would never have with me..._ She ponders before chasing the thought right away. As she said herself, she considers jealousy a low sentiment indeed. But still, she has not missed the fact that Jaina is not her consort yet, officially, or not. She has not claimed the mage, and thus her possessiveness lacks tonus. So does her confidence.

Of course, Sylvanas shows nothing of her internal turmoil. She stands next to Jaina, proud queen of the Forsaken. Still, coming back to Silvermoon always agitates her in the worst way. This feeling extends to her dark rangers as well. The beauty of the landscape and the city contrasts with the Dead Scar and the pain associates with their collective grief. The Scourge has ruined everything, and neither the soil nor the elves have healed. 

“I am grateful that you could receive us in such brief delay,” Jaina says to the blood elf paladin. 

“This is normal. Time is each second more pressing.”

“Where is the Regent-Lord? Patience is a virtue, but waiting is a luxury,” Sylvanas adds.

“I agree,” A male voice echoes. The silhouette of Lor'themar Theron joins the group in the meeting chamber. He wears his usual armor, ready for war as he should. “Although I am surprised that our allies prefer spending it in conversing.”

Sylvanas frowns. “You know what brings me here, Regent-Lord.”

He clears his throat. “I am aware of your concerns, but we are already preparing our defenses in case of an Alliance offensive.”

“The Forsaken wish to collaborate in the war effort. If we coordinate our defenses, the better it gets,” Jaina suggests.

Numerous Blood Elves still revere Sylvanas as one of their nation's greatest hero despite her undeath. However, not all Sin'dorei share this open-minded attitude. Lor'themar is among them. “We collaborate with all races of the Horde,” He states. “And we fulfill our duty by following the Warchief's orders. The Forsaken should do the same.”

“Lor'themar, we're not talking about a skirmish here. Garrosh wants an open conflict with the Alliance, and he has ordered most of our troops to head towards Kalimdor. Our borders are near defenseless and you know this,” Sylvanas echoes in a menacing tone.

“I have not asked for a reminder. Furthermore, if you listened to the Warchief instead of scheming, maybe it would be clearer.”

“I think we can formulate things differently,” Lady Liadrin comments to appease the tensions. Unfortunately, it is already too late.

“Lady Liadrin and Proudmoore, leave us alone.” At this moment, none of them dare to oppose. Once they left, Sylvanas' eyes shine and dark smoke emanates from her armor. “If I knew I trained such a coward in my army, I would have let you clean the stables!” Sylvanas spites.

“Who do you think you are? Coming to my city to tell me what to do? You're not Ranger-General anymore, you're not even a Blood Elf!”

“More elves are serving under my banner than there is in the entirety of Quel'thalas, pets included! Where do you think everyone went after the Scourge's retreat? They came to _me._ ”

“This is outrageous!”

“Do you know what's outrageous? That you're so stubborn and short-sighted that you can't see that the destiny of our two people is intertwined here. Or maybe you're too scared of our Warchief.”

“I am loyal to the Horde.”

“So am I, but an Alliance offensive compromises our survival.” At the word survival, the Blood Elf's eyes widen. “We need to find a solution and quick.”

Lor'themar's chest falls. “I don't have a solution, Sylvanas. We must trust Garrosh's plan. He is too obsessed with victory to abandon his forces on this continent.” He looks at the woman who used to be his superior. Her stare, her morbid stillness... She knows his trust is flawed. “We can't change Garrosh's mind unless...”

“Unless what?”

“Baine and Vol'jin had some reserves too. Maybe they can back our concerns. In the meanwhile, we must do as the Warchief says.”

Sylvanas ponders. Baine's soft heart makes for an interesting weakness to exploit. He's quite the pacifist. Although Sylvanas is not against war per se, but rather the way Garrosh sends her forces to the butcher, she sees how she can exploit that. “We need to make it work together, otherwise, our chances will inevitably mince. I want our generals to plan together for our defenses.”

“I understand. I will do my best.”

The Banshee Queen does not find the answer satisfying, but she settles for it. She has not anticipated that Lor'themar would be brought back to reason so quickly. “Shorel'aran,” She concludes. The Regent-Lord nods as she leaves him. She must continue to fight the hardest way: not with a bow, but with the power of persuasion.


	7. Failure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaina continues in her quest for a diplomatic solution, but the odds are stacking against her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a rough chapter for Jaina, and as some of you know it won't get better. Do not worry though, Garrosh won't stay as long as in the books and game expansions. Also there are some misogynistic remarks thrown here: this is a recurrent character trait in Garrosh, and I won't grant him a redeeming quality by writing it off. Again, he'll pay for it later in the story.

“Sylvanas, wait!” She turns her back, looking at the mage from the side, as she is about to make her way to Ogrimmar's portal. “I can come with you to discuss with Baine. If we are together, we have twice the chances to convince him.”

The banshee has allowed Jaina to follow her around Silvermoon, but she feels like this must be put to an end. Firstly, she plans to exploit Baine's soft heart to gain upheaval in the conversation. A manipulative tactic indeed, but one that she finds necessary. Second, the mage has been at her side often in the last few days, and one day she will need a justification for this. Nathanos has been established as a loyal and competent second in command for years now, even before the Fall, so his presence has become self-evident to the Forsaken. But Proudmoore? Yes, she has wondrous skills that make her worthy of responsibility, but her integration of the Horde is so recent that she fears someone would question her judgment if she keeps her around as much as she did. 

“I appreciate your zeal, but I will do this alone. Go back to the Undercity. You are needed there.”

“But Baine will listen to me.”

“How so? What can you possibly tell him that I cannot?” Sylvanas replies, visibly annoyed by her insistence.

“He's in debt to me.”

“Is he? What a development, are there more news conveniently hidden from me?” She says, her voice diving in bitterness.

“This is right... you should have known. I helped Baine taking back Thunderbluff during the Grimtotem revolt. We used to consult each other when I oversaw Theramore. And after I was brought to the Horde, I continued to give my support.”

Sylvanas looks down. “There will need to be disciplinary measures for you not disclosing this sooner,” She says as she ponders. She would be upset - and she is - but she also recognizes the opportunities that this brings. If Baine and Jaina have worked together in the past, that can indeed be an advantage for the negotiations in coming. At the same time, she knows why she has been kept unaware: generosity. She refused to scrutinize her correspondences and now, secrets pullulate. Plots. Schemes. Shadows that strive behind her backs. A bullet coming to quickly to reap her from this world. 

“Sylvanas... are you okay?”

“This is none your business. You are assigned into working in the sewers once we have dealt with this.” A merciful punishment if it ever gets done. She will not send her best mage in the sewers while a war with the Alliance is arriving in a matter of days.

“I am sorry.”

“Don't be,” Sylvanas cuts. “In normal times, there would be more consequences. However, those are exceptional times, and as it turns out, your collusion is an asset. I want you to meet the Tauren's chieftain and represent the interests of the Forsaken.”

“Will you come with me?”

“No,” She was going to say that she will be watching her... but stops her right before. She has used telepathy with Esmerosa before, during Silverpine's campaign namely. She wanted to supervise the operations and, as it turns out, her complete attention was required as the champion and her Valk'yr almost fell into the claws of the worgens. But this situation is different: she is not sending a promising recruit against overwhelming enemy forces. She sends Jaina for a task requiring discretion and finesse, among allies. More importantly, this is about Jaina... This configuration and the unclearness of her feelings now disallow such a tactic. ‘’I demand that you come back to me afterwards. I want a complete report, cleansed of all dishonesty and ambiguity. Am I clear?

“I won't bend your trust again, my Queen.”

“I am expecting results. If we can get Lor'themar and Baine on our side, we might pressure the Warchief into correcting his plans. Now go.”

Jaina bows and she heads towards the portal.

***

She understands why Sylvanas would react this way. Her helping Baine was a rogue mission, whether the results were beneficial or not. Would have she helped the chieftain if she remained in the Alliance? Probably... Back in the days, her motives were to build cooperation between Theramore and the people of Kalimdor, as much as possible. This hope made some sense when Thrall led the Horde. But now, with Garrosh, the house of cards she has been building up to the campaign in Northrend has been heavily compromised to its destruction. Even for the Horde: the death of Cairne, the militarization of Ogrimmar, his disregard for the Forsaken and the Blood Elves... everything diplomacy keeps worsening under his command. She is certain Baine will hear reason out of this.

Lady Proudmoore would worry about Sylvanas' expedient orders, but she rather focuses on her task. Once she is fully teleported into Ogrimmar, she can contemplate the number of warriors and platoons stationed in the Horde's capital. The garrison is enormous. All the races of the faction are preparing for war; Trolls to a lesser extent as they continue to regroup and position themselves for an offensive on Northwatch. As for Taurens, the tribes' warriors are still moving out of Mulgore. The Blood Elves and Forsaken, however, have been deployed with a swiftness that would honor the Regent-Lord and the Banshee Queen if they were not bleeding their resources out in the process. 

Jaina heads towards the Valley of Wisdom. There, she demands to speak to Baine Bloodhoof. It took less time than she anticipated, but the Taurens have always been hospitable to her. She enters a hut where she sees the chieftain, visibly agitated by countless thoughts. Once his head lifts towards the mage, he gives himself a more relaxed stance. “Friend Proudmoore, I am happy that you are here and well.”

“This is reciprocal. Unfortunately, I did not have the time to inquire news from you in recent times.”

“No offense has been taken. We must all follow our path, although I did not presume that you would never come back. What brings you here?”

“I wish to discuss with you on important matters. I am here to represent the Forsaken.” 

Baine's expression darkens slightly. “What does your queen want?” He says in a strange familiarity. 

“This is about all of the Forsaken and our lands. As you are aware, Garrosh will soon rage a war against the Alliance.” The Tauren nods. “He has requested a grand army for this endeavor. However, it seems he has taken so much from the Eastern Kingdoms that our generals fear the Alliance will take the continent back by the time this campaign of conquest ends. Maybe even before the Horde even takes Ashenvale. The situation is alarming.”

“I understand. But what can we do?”

“If the leaders of the Horde stand as one, we might change his mind, if only to dispatch the troops more wisely.”

“I am with you in heart, but I am not sure this is a good idea.”

“Why?” Jaina replies, bewildered.

“I need to protect the Taurens. I know Sylvanas is doing the same for her people, but I can't take the risk of invoking Garrosh's anger.”

Jaina suspects this fear has something to do with how Garrosh killed his father, but she knows she must push it a little bit. “If we want the Horde to be strong, we need to look up for one another. How is this war going to be if each race looks for itself only?”

“You don't understand, friend. Hellscream... he is not like Thrall. He does not have his wisdom. He does not listen to his advisers. He surrounds himself with-”

“Surround with what?” A male voice echoes as a grey Orc disrupts the meeting. “The Warchief will be curious about what you two have to say.”

“And you are?” Jaina says defiantly.

“You're new around here.” Malkorok clears his throat. “I serve the Warchief Garrosh Hellscream and the Kor'kron. And I command you two to come with me immediately!”

Jaina and Baine glance at each other and comply. 

***

Garrosh looks down on the Tauren and the Forsaken woman as he ponders what has been told to him. Then, he grins and laughs terribly in front of his two guests. “This is folly. Questioning the Warchief of the Horde, in my city?” He stands up, puffing his chest as to show dominance. “I knew our dear Baine to be soft but listening to the vain concerns of a little woman? Pathetic.”

Jaina frowns as her expression becomes cold as her spells. She had no respect for Garrosh before, but everything stacked up for her to hate him without redemption. 

“Do not get work on such details. The campaign has been thoroughly prepared, as I previously disclosed. Our invasion will drive the feeble Night Elves out of Kalimdor! Our victory will be utter and crushing! The Alliance will be too preoccupied defending the rich forests up north than trying to take over some dead woods. Once we get total control of the continent, the Horde will be replenished, and your people will have nothing to fear from the Alliance elsewhere.” Garrosh walks toward Jaina, his steps crashing loudly into the rock pavement. “As for you... You are stained with nauseating pacifism. You are still a little human girl inside.” He spitefully says. “You are conscripted in my army. You will attack Theramore on my command. Maybe that will teach you a thing or two about loyalty.”

Garrosh sits back on his throne. “You two are dismissed. It will be the last time I will discuss this. You either follow the Warchief or you're not a member of my Horde.”

Once Jaina leaves Grommash Hold, she wants to throw up. Instead, only mucky liquid gets out of her mouth, her body being empty with food for months. Baine stays with her, apologizing. 

Beyond the chock, the mage boils in destructive anger.


	8. I'm so sorry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylvanas and Jaina are both pondering on what to do about Theramore and Garrosh Hellscream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a small chapter about the two love birds being love birds. There's a bit of sexiness too, so you're warned!

Sylvanas takes a portal immediately upon the news. Silent and resolute, she storms in the Forsaken troops like a tornado. She enters an arcane room where the mages have gathered. The Banshee Queen glances at them and the intruders immediately understand that they must leave. Lady Proudmoore looks down and exhausted as if she has not let her body rest for more than two minutes.

“I suppose you want an explanation,” Jaina says with an abated tone.

“No, I don't,” She replies. A member of the Kolkron spotted her and Baine. Garrosh added upon his previous plan. He will not change his mind. But more dramatically, Jaina is now obliged to fight against her people... Even Sylvanas had enough sensitivity to keep her from fighting her city. Although she cannot indulge her sentiments, she knows how terrible it would be. She would at least give her the choice. _But there are no choices. No control. Once again... She will have... to kill... her people._ That realization transports the Dark Lady somewhere else, somewhere she preferred to never remember, as she was forced to sack the very city she died horribly by trying to defend it. “I am sorry... so sorry,” She continues in a sobbing voice as she hugs the mage. “I should have come with you. I should have protected you...” Her voice has lost her ghostly echo as if she spoke as her living self, but only for brief seconds.

“Sylvanas...” She holds tighter as any form of comfort cannot hurt. When Sylvanas removes her mask, she can be especially sensitive and agreeable, in action if not in words. She knows her from before the Fall: even then she tended to hide her weaknesses, but they have not been around for long enough to get to know each other all that much. But in this other life, she sees what is in her heart. And that sparkle of love makes the living torture she is under a bit more bearable in the instant, but she can't say if that painkiller will last for long.

“I have failed you.”

“You have not. You acted as a leader. But now... what can we do?”

Sylvanas breaks the embrace and composes herself. “I did not tell you because I was not sure how you would react. I am planning to raise the city. The citizens will be free to choose what they will pursue in undeath.”

“I don't know what to think about that,” Jaina admits.

“I understand. But Theramore does not need to disappear. You could build it anew. The ones that rejected you will, at last, understand. You can lead Theramore once more.”

“I wished we did not need to have this conversation in the first place. If only Horde and Alliance could solve conflicts differently...”

“Alas, we do not live in such a world...” Sylvanas frowns. “But we can save what is within our reach.”

“I get where you are coming from, but I can't resolve myself to do this. This...” _I'm sorry, Arthas. I can't watch you do this... I can't watch myself do this._

Sylvanas holds Jaina's hand, softly. “I will never ask you such a thing.” But Garrosh has. “If truly you can't follow the Horde anymore, I won't stop you.”

“But Sylvanas...”

“I know. But if you want to settle this for good... You must have heard of the Mak'gora.”

“This is how Garrosh killed Cairne for Horde's leadership.”

“Indeed. Garrosh will not refuse, he is obsessed with his honor.”

Jaina remains silent. She knows she could leave the Horde and find protection within the Kirin Tor if she wanted to. Some undead mages have found a home in Dalaran, as the neutrality forbids, in principle, partisan discrimination or violence. But at what price? Her consciousness? She already loses herself in the Lich King's death toll, devoured by guilt for not having stopped the mad prince herself. Can she live with the fall of Theramore? Or else... if she can kill Garrosh and stop this madness, wouldn't be ideal? “The night is near... can you stay with me?”

“The Dark Lady has... many responsibilities... and...” _Fuck that._ Sylvanas leans for a tender kiss. Jaina responds enthusiastically by deposing her lips on her lover's. She grabs her banshee with love. Then, Sylvanas opens her eyes and looks at Jaina's hand, lovingly rubbing her face. She notices minor rots on her fingers. “Jaina... you need to take care of the rot. Forsaken must take care of their bodies too.”

“I... do not know how to do it. I was too embarrassed to ask,” Jaina confesses. 

“You need to clean it.” Sylvanas takes a small tissue and cleans the mage's hand. “If it eats too much, you should seek an alchemist, so they repair your parts.”

“I get it. I... I might have some more near my neck.”

Sylvanas continues. Despite the rot having spread a little bit, Jaina still has nice skin. The Banshee Queen can tell as she gently removes some imperfections from her neck and going down from it. She has to remove the mage cloak's to have access to more skin, and Jaina responds with visible enjoyment. Proudmoore lifts herself for a kiss: the elf accepts it. 

“Do you get rid of this armor, sometimes?” Jaina asks with a false naive tone.

“I like wearing it.”

“I would like to tear it down.”

“You... you can't do that in such a place,” Sylvanas justly remarks, both embarrassed and receptive. 

“You're talking to an archmage, _sweetheart_. We can be anywhere...” As she states this, she gently pushes Sylvanas back as she steps into a portal, transporting them somewhere more private. Nothing is safer in Azeroth than a portal created by Jaina Proudmoore herself, and it can reach such a variety of locations too. They reappear in a nice room with a large and comfortable bed.

“Are we breaking an entry?” Sylvanas asks, perplexed.

“Actually, this belongs to the Champion, but she never uses it.”

“Why is she...” Finally, she abandons even thinking about it. 

“This is not important,” Jaina attacks the Banshee Queen with kisses. Sylvanas lets it happen. She hates that she likes it so much: being so easily charmed and tempted by Jaina. The mage removes the Dark Lady's pauldrons. This is enough for the banshee to feel naked, as she rarely ever gets out of that metallic shell. Then, Jaina holds Sylvanas' claws. “Do you always keep those as well?”

“My hands are not pretty. This is all... interesting, but I do not think you know what you're getting into.”

“We talked about this... I do not find you repulsive.” Jaina nuzzles into Sylvanas' neck. 

“I have scars and no fashionable ones. I may be an elf, but I died for a longer time than you did. This leaves marks.” At the thought of what scar Frostmourne left on her body - her entire belly, being, shattered - she feels unsteady. “Can we... just sit for a moment?” Jaina nods and they both sit on the bed. “I... apologize. Things have... changed since. I do not know if it's even possible.” 

Jaina looks at her lover. She contemplates how beautiful she is, be it when she is the fearsome Banshee Queen or just Sylvanas, taking a break because she needs to. Her hood has fallen with all the smooches occurring. Her sight devours the pale and silky hairs of the elf. “Why are you sorry? I am not mad at you... You are just too pretty for that.”

“This is vile flattery.”

“If it works.” Sylvanas lets a brief smile crossed her face. “See? Would you mind if we... cuddle in bed?”

“Cuddling?” Sylvanas replies as she forgot the meaning of it eons ago. “Your demands are incessant,” She complains as she tucks herself in the bed with Jaina, holding her firmly. 

“Doesn't it feel right though?”

“We will be here all night.”

“That's the point,” Jaina says as she nuzzles Sylvanas. 

“I do not want to let you go. This may be a selfish desire, but I do not want you to leave the Horde.”

“Then, an orc needs to die,” Jaina says matter-of-factly. “I hate him with all my will. He will ruin everything for his megalomaniac pleasures. All of this because Thrall saw his brother Grom in him.”

“Anger can be fruitful if well-directed. Let it not blur your judgment when the time comes. I want you in one-piece, or else I will have a team working on needling you back together.”

Jaina chuckles. “So, you say you want me?” She caresses Sylvanas' face.

“You are impossibly difficult and desperate for my attention.”

“I do not despair for something I already have.”

“The Banshee Queen can't be played with like that, she-” Jaina kisses the leader of the Forsaken's forehead, interrupting her monologue on the meaning of her status. Instead, she discretely purrs.

“Here you are,” She rubs her head affectionately. “Don't worry about me, Garrosh might be a skilled warrior, but he cannot hold an axe if his hands are frozen, can't he? Or do anything if he is burnt to death,” She explains with a certain affinity for the morbid.

“This outcome is not unpleasant.” _But what if she fails. What if I lose her too... Like I lost everything else. Is this all a meek fantasy? Is this all a mistake? Am I destined to suffer?_ The banshee thinks with melancholy, but she will not express her worries. The hour is not to defeatism. “What will you do after your victory? You could claim power, but that would be a tedious endeavor.”

“I will end this useless conflict. Power is not my motive. I do not think I would last long anyway. They need a respected and considerate leader, like Baine. But for me... I need you.”

Sylvanas mediates on this as the night reigns.


	9. Lady Proudmoore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theramore will collapse, or will it?

The Horde is marching. All troops are converging towards Theramore, galvanized by the crushing victory at Northwatch Hold. The drums are ringing hard, and nothing dares to step in the way of the mighty Horde. Jaina is among them, on her skeleton horse, next to the Horde Champion Esmerosa and the other Forsaken, ready to represent the Dark Lady during this battle. Jaina's expression contrasts visibly from the exhilarated warriors: unamused, rather disgusted by herself, and quite ready to throw a fireball at the first person asking for it. 

The champion sees it and tries to soften the situation a bit. “You have a nice skeleton horse, and I know they all look the same at this point, but I appreciate how clean its bones are.”

“... Thanks,” Jaina replies, uninterested.

“Hey, by any chance, do you have any arrows to spare?”

“You're saying we are heading for a battle and you don't have any arrows?”

Esmerosa gently smiles as she pets her spider companion. “Yeah? This is not like I'm paid in arrows or anything.”

“Wait, are you even... rewarded for everything you do?”

“Oh, it happens... Well, I'm rewarded on the terrain, and sometimes the people I help give me some coins. I get what I find and that's pretty much it. I don't receive an allocation from the Horde or anything. Usually, when I hang around the Undercity, they provide me with something but in Ogrimmar?”

“You must have some money somewhere.”

“Yes and no. I made investments and I'm waiting for a return.”

“Champion... you have killed the Lich King yourself, among other things, and you're here with no proper equipment of your own?”

“Yes,” She says lightly. “I still have my bow, but I don't want to bother the dark rangers...”

“Esmerosa, this is not normal! You won't be able...” _To kill my city, that is, but also to defend yourself,_ she's thinking. “This is not important,” Jaina sees a dark ranger near and calls for her. “My apologies, the Champion Esmerosa needs arrows. Do you have some to spare?”

Dark Ranger Alina stares at Jaina defiantly but softens at the sight of Esmerosa. “I have some here,” She hands ten arrows to the Horde Champion.

“Ah, thank you, Alina, that will suffice! How are you doing, by the way?”

“Bad. I hate the sun.”

“Haha, don't we all,” Esmerosa roughly chuckles. 

“You'll make it with... ten arrows?” Jaina asks incredulously.

“Ah yes, that will do perfectly fine. I know how to use my resources carefully when I need to.”

Jaina ignores if she must be impressed or scared. Probably both. “Regardless... you have done so much for Azeroth as a whole... I feel like you should be treated a little bit better. At least getting the right equipment.”

“I never know who I should ask for it. Eitrigg, Hellscream, a random person in the street? The Horde asks but does not give.”

The archmage does not comment, but she prepares a mental note about all of this. She knows this is no problem with Sylvanas: when Esmerosa is around the Undercity, she is well-armed. Visibly, she does not receive equal treatment everywhere. 

Alina made an accurate remark about the sun, as it is especially hard and unforgiving on the first day of the march. The Orcs, Trolls, and Taurens are used to such difficult weather, but the proximity, the equipment, and the seeming lack of water make it excruciating, even for them. The Warchief allows no rest or concession as he thinks his warriors should be handling it without whining. The sand and dust lifting from the ground makes everyone's throat dry in minutes. The Forsaken manage this better than most races, but even for them, this damages their throat. Like the livings, they must take care of themselves. 

Fortunately, the army is allowed four hours of rest as the night falls. Jaina takes this time to reflect on her strategy concerning Garrosh. She needs more time: she knows that the Horde will reach Theramore quickly if the march continues at this rate. She secretly hopes that the water issue will multiply the supply deficiencies, forcing the force to slow down. If Hellscream continues to overwork his warriors, she considers challenging him on that basis. Good diplomat that she is, she is aware that she can't officially challenge Garrosh for the fate of Theramore, an enemy town, the one she built on top of that. She needs to find issues within the operation that she could use as an excuse to defy the authority. It does not need to be genuine.

Rumors spread among the soldiers that Theramore is already preparing its defenses. News spread with the utter destruction of Northwatch Hold, and the Alliance expects a siege. Some say they are mobilizing their finest to protect their military presence in the south of Kalimdor. Of course, Garrosh Hellscream is delighted by the rumors: the stronger the enemy, the more honorable the war trophy is, especially considering the nature of his secret plan. 

The night has not eclipsed itself yet that the Horde hit the road again. The warriors joyfully destroy every Alliance symbol in their way, more numerous as they approach Theramore. Near the end of the march, Jaina can see the blue line of the ocean and the towers that she oversaw herself. One of them used to be her home: she is quite certain she could teleport herself into it with ease. And as the attacking army approaches their target, ready to deal a mortal blow... Garrosh stops it. Time and space are freezing as the Warchief delays the invasion without providing any explanations. Meanwhile, the Alliance forces are consolidating. This reality does not motivate Garrosh to act, which confuses the army tremendously. Swiftly, whispers spread that this attack will be their last, as warships are arriving in Theramore's ports with soldiers and supplies.

***

Baine and Vol'jin had their share of Hellscream's massive ego and imprudent moves. They trusted Thrall when he told them that Garrosh would gain wisdom and listen to his trusted advisors. None of it turned out to be true. The more time passes, the more this mission looks like a collective suicide, a total waste of lives. However, the Warchief's refusal of hearing any oppositions - and according to rumors, even intimidating dissident voices - have impeded any genuine discussion about the future of the Horde. This, of course, benefits the current Warchief as he can throw his troops wherever he wants if they do not doubt him. Baine and Vol'jin, however, consider this an extremely dangerous situation for their respective people.

Jaina's attempt to ally with Baine has not been so vain, as now the Tauren Chieftain contemplates how absurd this war has become. But to truly bring their Warchief to reason, there needs to be a serious and clear conversation about their loyalty and their goals. They have invited Jaina for a secret meeting near a tree, distant from the siege but not too far so some would think they are defecting. 

Baine, Vol'jin, Jaina, and warriors of various ranks have gathered to discuss the most recent events, which is almost entirely about Garrosh's leadership. The attendants are demanded to talk one at a time so the conversation can flow peacefully. The topics are going from the army's lack of supply, the overworking of peons (although this has not gone far as Vol'jin and Baine are known to be dismissive of the subject themselves), the unfathomable strategy for the invasion of Theramore and even on the repression the Kor'kron is investigating among the citizens of Ogrimmar. Jaina has but scarcely partaken in the conversation, if not to repeat the concerns regarding an invasion from the Alliance in the Eastern Kingdoms. Although they seem to agree on a surface level, Jaina is well-aware that she is playing on a different level. Having to hide her true motives like this is not her favored tactic, but she can do so. Being undead has some perks: she has much better control over her bodily expressions, making her difficult to read. Sylvanas has mastered this technique, and Jaina has learned from proximity. 

The history cycling like a mad ouroboros, Garrosh and Malkorok approach the group unexpectedly. Busted, Vol'jin tries - in vain - to smooth the situation by praising Garrosh and losing himself in euphemisms about his criticisms. When Hellscream lost patience, he punches a Blood Elf woman in the face. That is when Jaina has truly enough of the Warchief. If her heart still pumped, she would be swimming in adrenaline and perhaps throwing fireballs already. Instead, she clears her throat defiantly: “This is enough. Your leadership is intoxicating the Horde on top of being short-sighted. You are preparing your warriors to die against a city growing in forces. I, Jaina Proudmoore, defies you, Garrosh Hellscream, in a Mak'gora. To the death.”

For a moment, the Orc is without reaction. He blinks sheepishly, more abashed than he wants to show. He walks towards Jaina menacingly, trying to intimidate her with his height and his oversized muscles. Yet, Lady Proudmoore stands still, firmly holding her staff as she stares the Warchief right in the eyes. Then, Garrosh chuckles, then loses himself in a lengthy laugh. “You are but a small and frail woman! And you want to challenge me?”

“I can repeat it if you like. You are known for being a slow learner, after all.”

He immediately stops laughing. “What is it? The Banshee is sending you because she's too coward to defy me herself? Truly, your kind is the least honorable,” He says accusingly. “Regardless, I will not stand an attack on my honor. Take your witness and meet me in three hours. I have no time to deal with such a puny matter,” He looks at the Horde dignitaries. “I want my army to see this. To understand what happens to the ones that dare to defy the Warchief. And let it be clear after my victory that I will accept no insubordination. Is this clear?”

Baine Bloodhoof and Vol'jin nod and bow.

***

The Horde made a small arena in no time, which consists of a dirt circle and a few siege engines where people can sit on to watch from above. This campaign falls into deeper degrees of absurdity for the soldiers: first, there is Garrosh's insistence of not attacking Theramore, then Lady Proudmoore is challenging him and the duel must happen now, at their enemy's door. The three hours have been intensely polarizing: fear has done its work, and most have shown undying support for their Warchief. Furthermore, Jaina does not have the sympathy Cairne had, and many suspected that this is about saving her human city. Nevertheless, like voices, money talks. And the bets are divided between the two challengers. Many know how powerful of a mage Jaina is.

***

Sylvanas has dispatched the rest of her troops on the border. Blood Elves platoons have arrived as well: cooperation is working for now, but will it be enough? Only she and Nathanos are left in the war room. This is not, however, the preparations that monopolize the Banshee Queen's thoughts.

“I suppose we must wait now,” Nathanos says. He oversaw the scouting operations with agonizing perfectionism: he expects to receive news the moment the Alliance even thinks about moving their army towards them. Sylvanas nods offhandedly. “Is everything in order, my Queen?”

“I am thinking about our troops in Kalimdor now that we have done the impossible here.”

“So, this is about Lady Proudmoore,” Nathanos remarks.

“If you were to... postulate on the outcome of the duel between Jaina and Garrosh, who do you think would win?”

“Of course, I cannot predict the future, my Queen,” He states. “But I would bet half my money and my boots on Lady Proudmoore.”

“How vulgar,” Sylvanas replies, yet visibly slightly more appeased. “Cairne was strong and wise, and yet he has been defeated. I am the one that suggested that idea, if she died because of me...”

“The Warchief is indifferent to wisdom and values raw strength above all else. Proudmoore is completely different, and we have reasons to believe that she will give no restraint. We should rather be concerned of what will follow the inevitable imbecile's death.”

“Politics,” Sylvanas comments. “I do not believe she has this foolish ambition of leading the Horde. We have made enough risky bets. I will make sure she comes back to _me._ ” She claims, possessive as one could be.


	10. Blood and Thunder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blood and thunder, sister.

Jaina enters the improvised arena, only wearing her clothes and a non-magical staff. Esmerosa follows her behind as her official witness. Garrosh does the same, only wearing a loincloth. His oversized armor did an incredible job as now Jaina realizes how grotesquely muscly her opponent is. Orcs tend to be larger and stronger, but Garrosh's protuberant muscles are so inflated that she feels certain this man has been compensating for something else his entire life. Curiously enough, he has not brought his father's axe, but rather two tinier and lighter ones. A butcher he is, but also conscious enough that this fight is not against an old and tall Tauren, but rather an able mage. 

The crowd is cheering for the Warchief, who takes the time to embrace the acclamations. As for Jaina, she receives no encouragement, except for Esmerosa enthusiastically taking her side. 

“This is a shame that you will not see the fall of your beloved city, traitor!” Garrosh yells. “But it will be a good thing, yes a good thing that I eliminate you. The Banshee should have let your corpse freeze in Northrend, or better, I would have gladly ended your suffering if the Lich King had the pleasure to raise you as he did for Sylvanas,” He grins. 

Jaina remains calm and unaffected. Of course, she takes no pleasure in hearing those words or the crowd calling for her death, but she knows that this pitiful spectacle is about distraction. Playing with her nerves so she makes the wrong decisions. Her rage is real, but she anticipated such provocation, and as such she contains herself. “Let's get to the point. I promised a date to your mate after this, and I hate to be late,” She smiles.

The Warchief chuckles angrily. Then, the horns scream for the beginning of the duel. Right after, the Orc abandons his arrogance. His face displays determination: luckily, same for Jaina. He rushes towards her, fast as a bull, but the mage teleports behind him with the speed of lightning. She throws fireballs but her opponent turns 180 degrees and dissipates the attack with mighty swings. Then, he throws one of his axe towards the mage, against which she teleports again. Magically teleguided, the axe gets back to its owner's hand like a boomerang. _He knew I would teleport_ , Jaina thinks, _so he prepared himself. Very well._ Proudmoore raises ice spikes around Garrosh to intercept any moving axes going around the arena. 

If Hellscream is no scholar and easily blinded by his glory, people generally underestimate his cunning. Once he gets a clear sight of Jaina, spontaneously throwing ice spikes at him, he throws his axe swiftly. As the mage teleports, Garrosh speeds in another direction completely, neglecting to attract his thrown weapon back. By doing so, once Proudmoore reappears, he gets way too close for the mage to be in safety. Instead of teleporting again, Jaina takes the momentum to raise an ice spike to impale her enemy, which partially worked as the Orc shifted at the last second. His shoulder gets a deep cut but he bounces back on the ground and slashes Jaina's chest - if he had not been destabilized by the ice spike, he could have decapitated her right away. Instinctively, the mage teleports again at the opposite extremity of the arena. She has time to look at her wound - although not lethal because she is undead, she remarks an acidic reaction on her chest... 

“Poison? I am undead!” Jaina says, not choked that he would do this but that he thought it would work against her for some reason.

“You're a mistake of nature!” He yells as he catches his second axe and runs towards her once more.

Instead of teleporting, she does not move until the Orc gets closer. His undying speed works against him as she opens a portal right before he attacks. Garrosh reappears above the ground, falling on a deadly and steady ice spike. He has the reflection to protect his body with his weapons, absorbing part of the damage done. He falls on the dirt, cut but not dead. As he is prone, Jaina has no mercy: a flurry of arcane bolts rain on him as if he was under gunfire. 

At last, what remains of Thrall's protege is dust and fleshy bones. For a brief moment, the attendants of the duel are dead silent, as they saw their Warchief getting annihilated. Then, a Tauren shouts “Victory to Lady Proudmoore!” and it motivates many to do the same. In the end, most are clapping and approving the result of the battle, until Garrosh's loyalists - with Malkorok leading them - enter the arena. “The Warchief has been assassinated! This was not an honorable duel!”

“Garrosh tried to poison me,” Jaina replies. “If anything, the shame belongs to him and his followers.” She coughs thought - perhaps the first time since she came back from the dead - and her stance becomes uneasy.

Malkorok draws his axe, hostile, but an arrow, then two and three, dives right into his chest, killing him in a matter of seconds. Esmerosa stands out, proud of her marksmanship. “I told you, no more than ten arrows necessary! Jaina? Do you hear me? Jaina, are you okay? Oh no, we need a priest here! Now!”

The winner of the battle for Theramore falls unconscious.

***

It is a radiant day in Stormwind City. The citizens go about their business as usual. The heart of the people is not the heart of their king, however. Varian Wrynn has been impatient for the outcome of the Horde's aggression in the Barrens. If he could salvage the city, maybe the Alliance's presence in Kalimdor will continue to hold, despite the harassing presence of the Orcs and Goblins in Night Elf's territory. He has dispatched many of his best lieutenants here, he even wondered if he should have traveled there himself to stop the Horde.

His curiosity becomes unbearable once Mathias Shaw, leader of the SI:7, joins him in his ruminations. “We have news from Theramore. The city is safe.”

“What are the losses?” Varian asks.

“None, your Majesty.”

“How is it possible? What happened?”

“The Horde army retreated without a fight. My informants claim that the Warchief Garrosh Hellscream died in a duel, preventing the assault. We have intercepted a zeppelin, however, heading towards the city. It was packed with mana bombs and dangerous artifacts.”

“Were they... trying to blow up Theramore?”

“This is our assumption, your Majesty.”

“Why were there retreating then...”

“My informants claim that Lady Proudmoore engaged in a duel with Garrosh Hellscream for the command of the army. She won, and the Horde left Theramore alone according to her will.”

“Jaina...” The king ponders. Is it possible that the Banshee Queen has not erased all her humanity? Perhaps there is still something resembling her living friend...

***

Jaina wakes up in an apothecary room in the Undercity. She remembers killing Garrosh like he was nobody and then, nothing. She touches her chest, feeling echoes of pain.

“Ah, it is time! This is not healthy to be sleeping like that,” The apothecary says with a bright smile.

“What happened?”

“Nothing too serious, acid stroke you badly and your head lost it. Don't worry about that, I sewed some new skin for ya, don't need to thank me. Oh and also you killed the Warchief.”

“I... did,” Jaina whispers. 'How long was I unconscious?”

“More than a day. The Dark Lady demanded that we bring you back as fast as possible. A smart choice.”

“Don't tell me that the Horde is hunting me down.”

The apothecary declines. “No, no... They respect their rituals, at least. Victory is yours, you decide the narrative. They came back to Ogrimmar and important people are doing politics. The champion apparently organized an enormous party in the capital in the name of... well the efforts the warriors made by walking to Theramore. Give them booze and they forget about anything, eh?”

Jaina is relieved. She has made it. She got to get the butter and the cow with it. “I need to see the Dark Lady,” The mage says as she clumsily stands up.

“As a doctor, I advised you to relax a bit... but our Queen did specify that she wanted to see you once you're ready.”

“Thank you for your help, and I am grateful for your concerns, but I need to.”

“As you wish.”

***

Has Sylvanas watched over Jaina for hours? Of course, she did. The moment she heard of what happened, she demanded that her entire team of deathstalkers protect her unconscious body and transport her back to safety. Back home. Back to her. Nevertheless, she could not stay with her forever: the death of Hellscream changes everything, on top of marvelously pleasing her. She refuses to pretend to lead the Horde - despite her mage killing the Warchief and a Forsaken being the Champion of the Horde, which is not bad for legitimacy some might think - as she prefers ruling in the shadows, where she possesses the freedom to act as she wishes. However, that is great news for her people as, according to her informants, the entirety of the Horde leadership is agreeing to step back on Hellscream's plan, ask for a cease-fire with the Alliance, and call it a day. This gives her time - and time the Forsaken have plenty - to strike on better terms. Or to further her research on expanding her people's longevity.

Lady Proudmoore enters her throne room, not invited but nobody having the guts to tell her no at this point. “Ah, you are feeling better now, I wish to-”

She does not have the time to continue her speech that Jaina holds her in her arms. “We have won,” She murmurs.

The Dark Lady turns her head to Nathanos: he nods, understanding. “Everyone, out, now!” The Ranger-Lord commands.

In no time, the throne room is empty. “You cannot hug me in front of everyone...”

“You have not stopped me either.”

“Can I?” She closes her eyes as her lover holds her tighter. “I presume not.”

“Don't act like you are not happy to see me.”

“The events have played in our favor, but-” A tender kiss ceases her words. “Whatever...”

If Sylvanas has not been undead, Jaina would swear she'd be blushing. “I am simply happy that this is over. I want to be with my adorable elf, what is wrong with that?” She says while sitting on the Banshee Queen's lap.

“You are making a mockery of my throne,” She smiles. She caresses Proudmoore's neck. “Too bad I will not bite you in retaliation. Marks will not go easily.”

“Is this all about that? Finding ways to punish me...”

“Your audacity deserves it.”

“I can't wait, then.”

The Banshee Queen laughs, something few beings of this world have heard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the people commenting. Although I don't reply to all of them I always like to read the comments you are posting!
> 
> This chapter concludes the arc about what happened in Tides of War, basically. You'd understand that from here, the usual WoW continuity will be severely affected, but some events will stay in the next chapters.


End file.
